


2 For 1 Special

by 11dishwashers



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-09-23 13:02:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9658523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/11dishwashers/pseuds/11dishwashers
Summary: There's this thing about Moon Taeil.(in which Ten and Johnny might as well be called Bonnie and Clyde)





	1. Moon Taeil

Moon Taeil.

24, fresh out of college with a job offer at his father’s accounting firm.

He can barely comprehend text as a human, he scans, not reads, strength or weakness- take it how you like. Just a bit insufferable. “Old boy”, wears boat shoes in the summer, wears work clothes on his birthday though remains unemployed, still uses a paper calendar, still tunes into the news every night as his microwave dinner goes in circles just to the left-

 

Moon Taeil, that’s him, with the grey-blue hair(result of a bad dye job, father has yet to know), hollow cheeks(result of undereating, father has yet to know), eyeliner(his father won’t ever know). (well)

 

Beat up red audi that doesn’t match his form, he leans against the car and spins a misplaced pen around his finger because it’s the same shape as a cigarette. Moon Taeil, two years clean, still leaves the car windows open while passing through the industrial side of town  _ just because.  _ (petrol fumes have a twinge of smoke, don’t you think? Between you and me, we have it figured out)

 

_ Where is he?  _ He frowns, he doesn’t do this a lot. He’s more of a blank-face to be entirely honest.   
He’s scared because his arms have been a bit flimsy as of late. He’s scared because the dangerous ones are starting to get kicked out of the club just before him, Alexa, aptly named after Alexanderplatz. A man with a busted lip get’s thrown out by two bouncers, holding an arm each, he wheezes and spits a dollop of blood on the sidewalk and it almost lands on Taeil’s shoes.

 

“You got a light?” a low voice says, Taeil’s about ready  to run- or run someone over- or drive the car into a tree so the bonnet shatters upon collision. Do they do that? Is that force possible, or would the tree fall over first? Wait, wasn’t he being asked a question?

He turns. The man is neither a barmoth nor Lee Taeyong. What a disappointment.   
Taeil coughs into what would usually be his sleeve, but just for tonight he’s wearing a vest. He’s not incompetent enough to wear a suit to a bar, after all.

“Er, no sorry. Clean for two years,” he responds. Hopefully if the man realises he’s not some rich asshole out here to look down on him, he won’t get glassed. At one point, he thought his fingertips would be permanently stained yellow. The man’s are completely clean, weirdly so, he obviously wasn’t out on the street for too long.

Young, asian, american accent that would get aggravating after a while.

“Is that what I asked?” the man says, more amused than angry, thank god.

“Um, no.”

Taeil’s being observed. He only barely catches on to it. The light on the man’s eyes give it away. “You don’t do this usually.”

“Right,” Taeil replies, feeling weirdly judged. Miffed, he thinks, because he’s always had that taste for terrible english slang in him. He wants to study english some day. It won’t work out like that.

“That’s why you’re so awkward.”

Taeil swallows. “Right.”

“What are you, waiting for someone?” the man asks, he’s tall enough that he can fold his arms on the roof and lean in on himself. He doesn’t seem to mind that the dust from the paint will rub off on his jacket.

“Yeah actually, but he’s not picking up his phone.”

“Seems like a waste of a perfectly good night,” Taeil catches the man start a word in korean before switching back to german again, more clumsy this time. Foreigner. “Should you really be waiting out here? It’s dangerous, let me take you somewhere.”

 

Sounds… dangerous. Taeil’s wary, obviously, but his only pet fish died last week and he’s incredibly lonely despite himself. So really it was Keppler who started it all. Maybe if he wasn’t so dead then Taeil wouldn’t be listening to the man directing him to his hotel.

  
  


Fuck it.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Lowell’s it’s called, seedy and just as you’d expect. Minimal security. Fake CCTV, if you have an eye for it, it’s easy to spot- the surfaces are too shiny.

The sign has shadows cast over it from a wrought iron fence. Taeil swears he can hear a dog barking somewhere, like a shitty thriller when the cops go to bust a door down, in his mind it’s too late to go back and this thought is  _ welcomed and appreciated. _

 

So the man brings him down the gravel path, he follows blindly, just a bit sore from standing for so long outside the club. Otherwise, not even a bit of doubt. Does he even care at all?

 

Taeil notices how the doors have no numbers nailed to them. He notices how the man fiddles with the keys, how many keys there are on that jumpring, the door is pushed open with a foot. To his distaste, the man’s wearing bright red shoes that shine under the automatic lights of the ‘garden’ (read: If The Surface Of Mercury Was On Earth).

 

The lights are off, some artificial light sifts in through the blackout curtains, but barely enough. It’s gone when the automatic ones switch off outside. They do that, you see, within mere seconds without movement. Once the man stopped to tie his laces and they switched off. It’s all a way of saving power on electricity costs, as is a lamp in each room, a lamp, as in a lamp singular, as in you’ll need reading glasses within a three day stay.

Appropriately, the man takes out a dark blue glasses case and slips some on. They make him look comically nerdy.

No one get’s a chance to see Taeil’s terrified expression because he’s already got a hand shoved in his mouth before it’s possible to react.

That’s where I come into play.

  
  
  


See that figure there, sharpening the butcher’s knife?   
That’s me.

It’s harder to swing with but it makes them  _ especially  _ scared. It’s a little game we play; I instill the fear when the lights go on, a two man show but I’m the main event and that gets me off just a bit.

 

See that figure pulling Taeil towards me?   
That’s Johnny.

He’s lanky and incredibly awkward, but that’s life. I can get past having to ask him to bend down before I kiss him. I can’t reach otherwise, you see. He likes to lure them in and I won’t mind as long as I get my little moment, always polishing a knife though we experimented with it, with the showtime, always polishing a knife when Johnny switches the lights on. I look  _ soft  _ and that’s the best part. It’s hilarious.

 

There’s this thing about Taeil. This thing, this peculiar thing, that I didn’t find out about until much later. Don’t get your hopes up, I’m not revealing it yet.

Back to the present.

 

He has less blood in his stream than that 16 year old from last week, the one that witnessed the murder of Oh Sehun( hot but looked better dead). Now, I don’t like killing kids, that’s not what I’m after at all. I hate seeing fear on their faces. Johnny *accidently* hit him with our rented green-gold(terrible finish) Nissan. Lee Donghyuck shouldn’t have been out late enough to witness a murder, really, and even I only know his name because of the local newspaper.

It just goes to show how stupid we can be sometimes.

 

Moon Taeil, 24, german-korean, a pretty picture of his face from the club’s CCTV camera. His father finds out he has eyeliner there, I suppose, on the Channel 8 News. Johnny has more information than I do. I can’t speak a bit of german and wasn’t bothered enough to ask beyond “how fucked are we?”

The answer was “not at all, unless you want to be,” and a wink. Typical high sexdrive Johnny. But then again, I had his dick in mouth within 30 seconds. It could’ve been 20 seconds but he insists on wearing those tight jeans with the hard-to-open zip. 

  
  


I should tell you this before I continue, though you’ve no doubt figured it out already from my little comment about my height earlier.

My name’s Chittaphon Leechaipornkul, or Ten on a good day, as in everyday. My name’s Chittaphon. I’m Ten. Big difference, I think, and Johnny loves how we have our stupid personas.

Truthfully? I do too.

  
  


I don’t like the whole post-murder thing. The corpse is fun to mess with and all, many a time I convince Johnny to let me cut off a leg or so. Like that japanese serial killer, who’s real name was never revealed, I always dream of straining out the blood in a bathtub, a leg beat up enough that it can fit down the plug hole with some effort.    
Maybe even bathe in it, Johnny just thinks I’m sadistic, which is completely true. He’s all against the whole chopping-up-dead-bodys thing because he’s sort of a wimp who hates washing bloodstains out of clothes. I love him to bits though, of course.   
We dump Taeil’s body on the way to the airport, it’s in the back the whole way through. Late enough that the police just want to go home, we sit it up and put sunglasses on it( this makes me laugh) and call it a day. Not a person in sight through the whole freeway, we drop it off at the side of the road somewhere along the line.

It’ll probably never be found, unless some hitchhiker stops to take a piss or something. I’ve always been mystified about the sides of motorways, they’re  a sort of limbo, don’t you think? Incredibly convenient.

 

Johnny leads me through the airport, holding my hand to pull me along. Most of the signs are in german.   
When we get to security and I show my passport, the shifty looking guy behind glass ushers me forward without a word.   
_ Shigure Ito- a Japanese name, though most of them can’t tell the difference anyway. The rest are polite enough to mind their business. I close over my passport, Japanese nationality too, like Johnny who’s going by ‘Kazuma Sato’ this time. _

 

What a hassle- getting a double connections flight to Lyons.

“I hear their wine is great,” Johnny says, sitting by me at the empty airport gate, a good while until departure.

I laugh. “Since when do you care about  _ fine wine?” _ I say and his sophisticated side takes a hit. He’s got these great ideas of becoming a vintage wine taster because he can “drink on the job”. The funny part? He doesn’t even drink anyway.

“Since always, do you even know me? Who are you?”

“Idiot,” I say, but I let him kiss me anyway.

 


	2. Lee Taeyong

  
  


I’d hardly expect it from Lee Taeyong, who I know little of, but that still doesn’t change my shock.

Lee Taeyong, who was supposed to meet up with Taeil in Berlin, is sitting in a field when Johnny spots him. A field in lyons- one that’s sparse but significantly nicer(seeming) than other fields. I’m sure if I was brought here with no idea that I was in France, I’d think it average.

He’s sitting in the middle of the field wearing some sort of dressing gown, looking sickeningly pale. There’s a canvas in his lap(bad painting practice) and a wooden box by his side. He scrutnises what’s before him- grass, grass and more grass.

At this point, I don’t know too much about him, other than the fact that his painting’s going to end up bad if he doesn’t use an easel or a paint mixer. Later on I’ll learn he’s 23 years old and mentally in his forties.

Johnny predictably has a bottle of wine since that’s one of his driving forces to even come to Lyons in the first place. I must say it was a good choice. Taeyong is fascinating, honestly, with his white hair and unnaturalness. Not to mention moon Taeil. What sort of business would they have together?

“Frigid, I bet,” Johnny says, to which I snort and elbow him in the side. We’re standing behind the bushes that frame the place, and I’m not sure if we’re visible to Taeyong, though I will say he seems too focused on his work in the first place. Behind us is the small town of Ambronay, with its cute little houses and flocks of tourists, us included. 

“You’re right though,” I respond as soon as Taeyong dips his brush into the black paint, which makes me wince. Definitely a mess. 

“What do you say?”

“Nothing at all.”

Johnny rolls his eyes. “Liar.” like he’s one to talk. “I say we go for it.”

“Whatever you want, dear,” I respond, like some fifties housewife. He leans (god) over and kisses me once, but it’s pretty disgusting because he tastes like wine. I push him away from me with a hand on his chest. “Brush your teeth.”

 

Our hotel is a little higher security then I’m used to, feeling both in danger and in complete safety at the same time. Johnny looks out the window where it’s gone dark, though the miniature cafes and restaurants that are literally all over the place light the village up and cast an orange tint on everything. 

“I don’t think it’ll work this time,” he says, looking back at me. “The hotel thing, I mean.”

And there’s only one of them too, the town is a tourist trap but a  small one nonetheless. I flick to the next page of room service, but there’s no number to call on it either. I frown and grab the leather binder from my bedside table. Why they have the number on this and not the actual menu, I can’t figure out in the slightest. “Do you want chips? I’ve been wanting them since I got off the plane.”

“Then we went to mcdonalds,” Johnny replies. “And yeah, sort of. But you need to focus.”

“Okay, I’m focusing,” I lie.

“We can’t kill him here. It’s too much risk. I say we just go out to the field and do it there.”

“You think he’ll still be there?” I ask. He gives me a pointed look.

“Did you see him? Of course he’ll still be there. It’s probably where he lives.”

“Yeah, actually,” I concede, still thinking the whole thing over. “Would be obvious though.”

“Ski masks,” Johnny replies.

 

It’s not so obvious. The fabric is itchy, and I won’t have my big reveal, but still. We don’t wear them until we’re by the bushes lining the field and Johnny looks so damn stupid. We only have pocket knives this time, bought on the drive from here to the airport and they’ll soon be disposed of. I wonder if this is all worth it.

But it just doesn’t add up; how Taeyong is in Amboray instead of in Alexanderplatz, how he’s real at all. Where Taeil fits in, I don’t know.

It’s something that has to be done. That’s the basic concept, and Johnny  gets this too, he’s been trying to get sober all day.

So, what’s the hardest part of killing someone? 3… 2… 1… If you guessed ‘killing someone’: ding ding ding! You got it!   
Don’t look at me like that. Humans are surprisingly hard to actually  _ kill _ . The moment their hearts start going crazy, the moment they panic and the instincts kick in, which are obviously dangerous to people like me and Johnny(murderers, would you believe).    
If I’ve died before, I wouldn’t know, but the feelings I get while in danger sort of don’t make sense. Once when this fucker (Yuta, I think) grabbed my knife off me and swung, I was overcome with a little something and twisted his arm without thinking. I don’t know how this could be, but it ended up going all 360 degrees around and a bone or two broke. This is why I say I probably died. I’m too good at causing pain to not have the most major understanding of it.   
Johnny thinks I’m crazy. (“crazy for you,” I usually respond, and he laughs and calls me an idiot and I always agree in my head). 

Johnny, with his height, climbs over the gate first and pulls me by the forearms. I topple over and squish the laughter in my skull back down to my lungs.    
Taeyong Lee probably hasn’t slept a day in his life, I realise when I see him crouched over the easel. He’s painting furiously like it’s not impossible to see the picture. The lights of Amboray barely make it over here, and as the cliches go, he’s just lit up by the moon, a pool of blue light. I pull out the switchblade.

“Straight to it,” I whisper, though Taeyong’s too frail to outrun us or even fight back so this doesn’t make a difference.

“Kind of boring,” says Johnny. It’s not an opportunity you’d miss.

 

When it comes down to the slaughter, I simply creep up behind Taeyong and get him in a strangle sort of headlock. He predictably yelps, struggles, gags by the throat. 

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to throttle you,” I say in french, wondering if he understands. “Trust me.”

“Shit,” he mutters, but it’s in korean, and this interests me. I remember how Taeil spoke it too, it makes more sense this way if they  _ are  _ friends. “Fucking let go of me oh my-”

“Do I stab him now?” Johnny asks, appearing next to me. 

“Whatever you want, dear.”

He shrugs just before Taeyong tries to scream for help, which really seals his fate.

“You retard. If you didn’t start shouting you could’ve lived for longer,” says Johnny, quickly running the blade over his throat between my arms. “But we don’t want to attract any attention, you know?”

The blood starts seeping over my skin which is a bit risky but what can be done? And Taeyong sounds especially obnoxious when he’s gurgling on it, spilling out of his mouth, he coughs some all over his painting and Johnny laughs. 

“What kind of painter makes grass red,” he says. “Surrealism? Well… I shouldn’t expect you to answer in this state.”

 

I hop into the bath when we get back to the hotel, content with today’s events. I stay in it until the water runs from red to clear before stepping out, and Johnny’s talking to some hotel staff outside the door. He thanks them in awkward french, always been the worse of us two, before telling me to come out. Chips for dinner. God help him.

And the funny thing is, that Taeyong’s death never gets reported by name, just a simple old ‘ _ MAN FOUND DEAD IN FIELD _ ’. 

 

He had a yellow slip of paper in his robe pocket, it just said ‘Jaehyun picking painting up: 3 p.m’. Whatever, I had to burn it either way, there was blood on the corners and I wasn’t in the mood to deal with evidence or Johnny, who’s so very paranoid about it.

 

The post-murder rush disappears as soon as we’re sitting at another airport terminal and everything’s calm again. We pay for the tickets with the surprising amount of money in Taeyong’s wallet, I suppose  _ someone  _ must of found his paintings standable(or even outstanding), since he was absolutely fucking  _ loaded.  _ The flight is a single connections one to Corfu, and I’m expecting sun from what little I know. 

“Like a holiday,” Johnny says, flipping through some newspaper that he probably can’t read, seeing as it’s in french and last time I checked he was still pretty bad. I do wonder. 

I hum, flicking through one of my phones. There’s not much on this one, other than a few fake contacts. “Good, about time.”

“You’re saying I paid for our trip to France and it wasn’t even a holiday,” he says, resting his head on my shoulder, which must be uncomfortable considering his height and mine. I suppose this makes it better. He has no right to complain, I think, considering the fact that he didn’t even pay in the first place- Taeil did.

“Business trip, more like,” I rest my head against his. “My coworkers really hot though, you’d like him.”

“You’re so  _ cheesy.  _ Why do I even go out with you again?”

“Because you love me,” I respond, grinning. 

He groans. “There you go again.”

He doesn’t mind so much.

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> 1\. keppler is a famous mathmetician  
> 2\. this story is johnten centric !! taeils a side character but hes important  
> 3\. its just for fun!!! inCredibly self indulgent n all  
> 4\. each chapter, someone gets shanked  
> 5\. critique would be super helpful !! ty for reading ily <3  
> 6\. follow me on twitter @11dishwashers for writing updates :)


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